A Nameless Campari Cocktail--"Once Upon a Time in the (Old South)West"

So we were invited to a party, a kind of high-end potluck that involved dramatic food creations by a variety of amateur foodies. And as usual, the email that came to me was ignored too long, until my pleading partner provoked me to reply. With virtually everything already selected, I promised to make the cocktails. No problem, I figured, with but a week to go. I have a half dozen crowd pleasers in my repertoire.

Or I could come up with one. I was harboring at the time a deep longing for Campari, which was absent from my cabinet and had been for some time. Why not make a Campari cocktail? Were there not a hundred easy variations on the Negroni? No problem.

But, of course, the eternal war between reason and experimentation raged in my brain. Reason always loses, and so I began mixing up various concoctions, trying to come up with some kind of Campari cocktail that would break the mold a little. But after a week, virtually nothing had come to mind.

But the best spur for invention is last-minute panic. Countless artists would  attest to the power of deadlines to inspire creation, although one might legitimately wonder how often this might result in genius rather than simply desperation. Given the difficulties involved in any act of creation, I suspect that genius is elusive enough to defy systematic analysis as to its prompts, let alone causes. But I digress. The point is that at the last minute, I mixed together the following:

1 part Campari
1 part lemon juice
1 part tonic syrup (lemongrass and cloves)
1 part sugar syrup
2 parts gin
club soda
garnish: lemon peel

It worked brilliantly. A bitter apértif balanced upon a fresh citrus sour mix. Sophisticated and playful, as if Renee Fleming chose to attend the party in a pink fur coat.

I was nonetheless apprehensive, and took several bottles of liqueurs to fall back on (Aviation, anyone?). But in the end, I shook up nearly 2 cocktails for everyone. It was a hit, and I was spared the embarrassment that comes from bringing the one dish no one touches.

Our first freeze

Our first freeze this year came early--November 12. It wrecked my squash and the last of the tomato plants (why I hadn't pulled them, I cannot really say). It also destroyed most of my flowering plants, including of all things the golden pineapple sage, which was just beginning to send up beautiful red flowers.

The arugula survived, as did the radishes. And actually my little seedlings of cold-weather plants appear to still be alive, if not thriving.

The temperature below the stairs is now 58 degrees. It climbed briefly back up to 60 after the freeze, but is otherwise holding steady.

UPDATE: within a week, the temperature below the stairs was back up to 64 degrees. Again, holding steady.

The fingers, they burn...

Autumn is and will always be my favorite season. The weather turns cold. Jackets and sweaters make their way from the closet to the dresser. The heavy duvet comes out, and sleep is suddenly more inviting. And the harvests! A season of peppers. The last of the tomatoes. Crisp lettuce.

There is also the smell and the sound of Autumn. It is football on in the background. Chicken bones and onions in water reducing on the stove. Leaves turn in the crisp air, and crunch underfoot on evening walks. And it all came out in fine form this past Sunday. Chicken stock with a heavy clove and pepper spice reduced on the stovetop while we made up pumpkin muffins and jalapeno jelly. A nice end to fall!

Jalapeno recipe is as follows:

about 20 jalapenos. chopped then blended, with 1 cup cider vinegar. Turned mixture into pot with 1 more cup cider vinegar, then added 4-5 cups sugar (recipe called for six). Boiled for ten minutes, stirring constantly. Added 3 oz. liquid pectin, stirred for one more minute. Ladled into ball jars and let them self-seal.

In a second batch, I mixed red jalapenos and orange banana peppers and used dry pectin, although I forget how many tablespoons.

My fingers burned for two days straight. Mean peppers this year.

Viña Eguía Rioja Reserva, Tempranillo

Not a bad $10 wine that we found at Whole Foods. Worth a stock for weekday quaffing, and for foods  that might take an earthy and mildly spicy companion.

Fall plantings

Out came the tomato plants. They were the victim of fungus and ultimately an early cold snap, which ended any hope that the late plants would yield some well-structured fruit. Alas! Nonetheless, I picked all the green tomatoes and have them on the windowsill. I doubt they will make sandwiches, but they will do in a sauce or cooked dish.

In place of the tomatoes I put down a split row of fennel and arugula. In the place of the tomatoes in Maia's plot I put down red lettuce. In place of the tomatillos, I laid down some carrots, although I am not at all convinced it will yield anything good.

The soil underneath the tomatoes was exceptional. Spongy and black. live worms rooting around.

The arugula I planted a ways back has produced immediate and beautiful salads for two weeks. It is a little thinned out at present, but I believe I can get lettuce for the week with no problem. My new row will hopefully produce when these plants are spent. As far as arugula goes, I will eat whatever I grow. It is a beautiful leaf. But it also reminds me how exceptional homegrown lettuce really is. Tender. Fresh. Delicious.

fall garden

In what might be termed a last gasp of futility, I fertilized the red peppers and tomatoes last weekend. With a kind of Pollyannish determination, I am trying to will my plants to produce one more harvest before the frost comes. The last batch was quite good, and so I was fairly convinced that an early November harvest might be possible.

This would be harmless except that it kept two large double rows occupied. Meanwhile, the arugula and radishes have sprung up. I am already enjoying a daily harvest of arugula which, combined with the last of my cherry tomatoes, are producing lunch-time salads. Delightful salads. With two more rows available, I could have another variety of chard, perhaps some more greens, carrots and radishes, and a welter of lettuces. And fennel. I'm sitting on a bag of fennel seeds that I really want to get into the ground.

And now we've had two unseasonably cold nights, dipping below freezing. I may be Pollyanna when it comes to my garden, but I'm not the village idiot. They are going to be mealy, and there is no real point in keeping them.

So they have another two days. On Saturday I will perform the massacre of red hill. I will leave the volunteer tomatoes in (they take up no real room, but will pull all the big plants. Then I'll prepare the beds and lay seed.

In my newly planted rows the chard is slow to rise. Coming much faster are several volunteer squash plants. Hopefully the vine borers are all dead from the cold.

Evolúcio Furmint (Tokaj) 2011

A little confession--I was uncertain what to make of the bottle because I did not immediately recognize Furmint. Combined with the clearly foreign spelling of Evolution, I half wondered if this was a proprietary or regional name of a blend. Perhaps this was the Hungarian version of a claret (only white, of course). Or maybe worse--a Frankenstein wine. After all, in an age when yeast is now being coaxed into producing synthetic sandalwood and vanilla, one can only imagine what small producers in Tokaj are doing in their spare time to compete with the Loire and Napa.

But, in the end, nothing that exciting was occuring. Furmint is a cold weather grape, appropriate of course for Tokaj and its world famous noble rot. It is dry and acidic without being bracing. It lacks the distinctive aromatics of Sauvignon Blanc, and is much closer to Riesling in its complexion and makeup. DNA profiling has established Gouais Blanc as the (perhaps unwilling) parent of this grape. My initial uncertainty was largely due to native ignorance. While I had quaffed a few Tojak glasses in my day, I am not an avid drinker of dessert wine. I prefer Cognac to Brandy, and whiskey to port. After a sumptuous dinner, the sweet does not usually appeal. So I had never closely examined a bottle of Tojak, or bothered to learn the first thing about it.

Furmint produces non-distinctive aromatics, as far as I can tell. I would have confused the nose with any number of whites. But this makes the grape probably more of a blank slate. And when one is looking for a quaffable white wine to start with, or to accompany a mildly spicy dish, or just to drink on a hot day, this grape is an option. And the Evolúcio was a pleasant and affordable option to stash away and pop into the fridge when necessary.

the new porridge

After complaining in a previous post about quinoa in breakfast cereal, I am now forced to eat crow. I have indeed made a super-porridge that features quinoa. But the key is to disguise the quinoa, which frankly does not do much for steel cut oats. The secret is amaranth.

1/2 cup steel cut oats
1/4 cup amaranth
1/4 cup quinoa (organic red, preferably)

1/4 cup dried cherries (dried fruit of preference, actually)
1/4 cup sliced almonds
some spices--cinnamon.
1 tbsp. butter

Heat the butter and add almonds and cherries. Turn up the damn heat. When it starts to sizzle, add the grains (yes, I know neither amaranth nor quinoa is technically a grain). Add any spices you want at this point. Stir continuously while a kettle heats up 4 cups of water on the stove. When the oats start to smell nutty, add four cups of water.

There will be a lot of double double toil and trouble fire burn and caldron bubble when one adds the water. Just don't panic.

Cover. Once the water is boiling freely, turn off heat and set aside. Let it sit overnight.

If one is cooking it up immediately, then just simmer for thirty minutes, stirring occasionally. You'll know when it is done.

Amaranth is my latest find. An Aztec "grain." Adds both texture and sweetness to the porridge. Which is good, because the run on quinoa has meant that not even the DeKalb Farmers' Market has it in stock any more. It will clearly be a while before supply meets demand, or demand curbs enough to bring it back to the shelf. In the mean time, I am making an equal parts oats and amaranth breakfast cereal.

Tonic Water #5 "Sugar and Spice"

My latest tonic water concoction may well be my best. I've made a batch in anticipation of a neighbor's housewarming party. The base recipe is unaltered--3 cups of water to 1/4 cup cinchona bark and 1/4 cup citric acid and a pinch of salt. Then I added about four lemongrass stalks, chopped, a teaspoon or so of coriander, and a sprinkling of cloves. For the heck of it, I threw in the peel of 1/2 of a lemon. It was in the fridge, after all.

I macerated the lemongrass after a 60 minutes boil. Then I let it sit three days, transferred it to a carafe, and let it sit another three before double filtering it.

The yield was 18 ounces. (2 1/4 cups). Rather than use agave, I used sugar syrup. The syrup was about a 1 1/2-1 ratio. I put in about 24-26 ounces of sugar syrup, brought it to a simmer, and then shut down the heat.

The cloves are noticeable in the profile. I decided to go with sugar rather than the agave to make the mouthfeel a little more rich velvet. This is a tonic water for the winter months--possibly a Christmas version.

Some new plantings...

So, a fall garden. Long desired. Finally planted. I put down radishes in a small patch next to the lemon balm. Along the walkway I planted arugula and zanzabar spinach. Or some spinach varietal. Can't recall now, and perhaps it does not matter--the seeds came from a neighborhood friend and I'm not entirely certain she knew what they were. Swiss chard went in the second row in Maia's plot.

Volunteer tomato plants are now fruiting much more bountifully than my original transplants. Of course it is late for tomatoes, and I am in bad need of some fertilizer. I am committed to the fish emulsion, so I must go get it. The fall garden, at present, has the potential to outstrip my summer garden. Already I'm seeing what I believe are arugula sprouts. Ha! Or perhaps spinach. I cannot recall which I planted closer to the door. Too little time to record such things. But hope springs eternal. If I can grow a decent fall garden, it will bode well for a new year.

Now to write that book I promised my editor...